by Jane Tesh
“And this woman is the one?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He sighed. “Well, sometimes I wonder if I could be mistaken. I don’t have visions about what’s going to happen to me. Sometimes I get a little glimmer of feeling from her, but it’s never enough for me to be sure.”
I was surprised there was even a glimmer. “Then she’s not the one. Forget it. What about that cute little Lily from Jupiter? She’s an alien, just like you.”
“At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it’s Ellie or no one.”
“And you plan to marry this woman and be faithful to her forever?”
“If she says yes.”
“You really are an alien.”
Camden took another drink. “I need her, Randall. Besides being attracted to her, her lack of psychic ability can block the bad vibes.”
“The blank she was talking about. So she’s like your own personal force field.”
“Don’t tease her about it. It really bothers her.” The birds had returned to the feeder, and he watched them for while, his expression withdrawn. “I’m using her, too. Why anyone would want this kind of thing is beyond me. I’ve spent my life either hiding the talent or constantly having to explain it.”
“But it’s useful, too. You’ve found things, found people. You can’t say it’s been a total loss.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m going crazy.”
“Well, you probably are. Your enormous brain just can’t fit in your head anymore and it’s leaking out.”
“No. I mean, I think I might be—” he faltered, “—not human.”
“So what do you think you are?”
His eyes were intent. “Doesn’t it sort of make sense? I have all this strange psychic power. It had to come from somewhere. I don’t know anything about either of my parents. Suppose one of them, I don’t know—” he faltered again.
“Suppose one of them was a Martian? Okay. Sounds reasonable to me.”
“No, listen. Suppose some of my visions are some kind of race memory?”
“You mean a message from Your People?” He looked so damn serious, I had to laugh. “Camden, for God’s sake, you have O.D.’d on all those science fiction movies you watch. You’re not an alien.”
“Well, how the hell would you know?”
“Because I’m an alien, and we don’t let weirdoes like you in the club. You need a ride to church tonight?”
Finally he managed to grin. “You read my mind.”
***
Victory Holiness was a little gray stone church in a rundown but neatly kept neighborhood. The houses along the street were small, but each one had a porch, a little yard, and some kind of fall flowers. The church sat on the corner next to a softball field and a small graveyard surrounded by a low border of stones. The sign out front said, “You Have Friends at Victory Holiness Church. Come Join Us.” The early evening air was warm. A trace of cooler breeze hinted at a thunderstorm. The church’s stained glass windows glowed softly. People entered the front door, calling to each other, shaking hands, laughing. Everything was warm and friendly, a perfect little Hallmark scene.
I knew then I couldn’t go in. I could feel emotion rising in me and knew I wouldn’t be able to take it. “I’ll wait for you in the car,” I told Camden.
The church had a small playground with some benches, so I sat down on one, and tried to pull myself back together. The breeze stirred the swings on the playground. I thought about the little girl who had blown me a kiss. I thought of my own little girl, who would never blow me a kiss again. I thought of the many times I’d taken Lindsey to school and waited until she was safely inside. I thought of the many times I’d picked her up, how she’d come skipping down the sidewalk, book bag swinging, long curls bouncing. She’d tell me how her loose tooth wiggled, how she lost her very best pencil, how Mrs. Andrews said her picture of Brown Bear was excellent, how yucky the potatoes tasted at lunch.
I shoved away years of memories. The choir sang a hymn, something about standing on promises. I’d promised to love, honor, and cherish—twice. I’d promised to look after Lindsey.
I changed position on the bench to look at the church, glowing more golden as the daylight faded. I tried to think of something else, my old church in Elbert Falls, bare wooden pews and cold white floors and windows of plain blue glass that made everyone look frozen; the uneven voices of our tiny choir, six members on a good Sunday, our faithful bellowing alto, a few weak and off-key sopranos, our thin reedy tenor, who would’ve killed to have had a voice like Camden’s, clear and steady and not too high. I could hear it now, supported by the rich chords of the choir.
Cross the river to the promised land
With the angels I will stand
Close to my Lord, my Savior, there,
Fill my days with song and prayer.
When my days on earth are done,
I’ll cross the river and fly to the Son.
There wasn’t any promised land. Why were they bothering to sing about some fairy tale? They were just deluding themselves. This was it, right here, and if you screwed up, if you lost something valuable, something precious, it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it.
I have burdens, care and doubt,
Sorrows deep within, without,
Still I know the Lord will be
Close beside to comfort me.
The chorus swelled like a rush of cool air in the summer heat. The congregation sang along. It seemed the little church would burst with song.
Fly to warmth and fly to light,
Endless day for endless night,
When my days on earth are done,
I’ll cross the river and fly to the Son.
Back in the car, I turned on my music, searching for something loud and raucous. The Black Eagles were stomping through their tenth anniversary concert when Camden got into the car. I turned the music down. He gave me one look and stayed silent. All the way back to the house, occasionally, I’d glance his way. He kept his gaze forward. But he knew. He knew everything.
***
In my room later that night, the lamp made a pool of gold on the green spread. The rain-scented breeze lifted the curtains, and thunder rumbled faintly. Before morning, we’d have one of those rip roaring storms that bent trees and made houses shudder.
From upstairs, Camden sang yet another mournful song.
Where have you been, my own true love?
Where have you been today?
Alas, I am so far from home,
I fear I’ve lost my way.
If you would only take my hand
I’d lead you back to me,
For you’re the fairest maiden
That ever I did see.
I thought about telling him to shut up, but I didn’t. I let him sing it again.
Chapter Ten
“The Unquiet Grave”
Early the next morning, I was in the office on my cell phone with one of my better sources, Bilby Foster, asking about gold lockets, when I heard a voice in the hallway. Camden stood in front of the hall tree, an odd piece of furniture he said came with the house, a cross between a coat rack and a bench. It also has a mirror. Camden was staring into the mirror, holding up a lock of his untidy hair.
“What is this?” he said in that alien and superior tone. “Good Lord, doesn’t this man own a comb? This is disgraceful! And he’s so small!”
Oh, brother. Ashford again. “So what were you?” I asked him. “Mister Universe?”
He whirled to face me, his presence making Camden’s youthful face look hard and old. “I was taller than you. Six six, a hundred and ninety pounds, well-groomed, in peak condition.” He turned back to the mirror. “I can’t imagine dealing in such a
body as this! How old is this man? He looks like a street urchin.”
“So go pick on somebody else.”
“Oh, no. I’ve been trying for years to make contact with a sympathetic soul, a soul that understands music, that understands loss.” He touched Camden’s reflection and then his face. “I’ve heard him singing here in this house. My songs sound well in his voice. It will be difficult, but I’ll look past the physical limitations.”
“You can’t take over like this.”
His eyes gleamed in a way Camden’s never did, a cold, calculating glitter. “I promise I will only use him for a short while, until my music is in the right hands.”
I didn’t like the sound of this. “I can do that for you. Tell me what needs to be done.”
He shook his head. “I’ll do it. Then I’ll leave, I promise.” He preened for a while in front of the mirror. “Even though he’s woefully small, he’s kept himself in shape.”
This was creeping me out. “I want you to leave now.”
“I shall come and go as I choose.”
“No, you won’t.”
He laughed. “You’re going to stop me? I don’t think so.”
I took a step forward, then realized any move I made would be toward Camden.
Ashford laughed again. “You hit me, who gets the black eye?”
An awkward situation, to say the least, but it could work to my advantage. “You’re going to need help. To the rest of the world, you’re Camden. If you want to get anywhere as Ashford, no one’s going to take you seriously.”
He eyed his reflection. “You may have a point.”
“Tell me what needs to be done.”
The look he gave me was full of loathing. He detested having to work with such an inferior slug. “Very well. But not now. Soon, I promise you.”
Then Ashford was gone, and Camden was back. He swayed slightly, as if someone had jostled him on a crowded street, and blinked.
“We have a big problem,” I said.
His gaze went to something behind me. “Randall, don’t start with the remarks.”
“What remarks?” I heard floorboards creak and for a moment thought Ashford was creeping up on us. I turned. It was Angie Dawson in the flesh—and I do mean flesh—a large suitcase in one hand and a large CD player in the other.
“Where do you want me to put this stuff, Cam?”
He started for the stairs. “I’ll show you.”
The she-behemoth was moving in? Angie lumbered up the stairs behind Camden. When he returned, I had my arms folded and my eyebrows up. I probably looked as pissed as John Ashford.
Camden looked defensive. “I could use another tenant.”
I glanced up, expecting the ceiling to sag. “You’re joking, right?”
“It was Rufe’s idea, and what could I say? I owe her, plus she’s been kicked out of her other apartment.”
“For what? Eating the other tenants? I don’t think our place can stand the strain.”
He was getting annoyed. It was a pale imitation of Ashford’s exasperation. “She needs a place to stay, and I could use the extra money.”
“Oh, she’s going to pay rent? Excuse me.”
“Rufus said he’d help her out.”
“‘Clash of the Titans.’”
“Just be nice, okay? No cracks about her size.”
I glanced at the ceiling. “Oh, there’ll be cracks, but I won’t be making them. That wasn’t the big problem I meant. I just spoke with Ashford, or don’t you remember a blank moment?”
His eyes went wide. “Just now?”
“Before Angie came in.”
“No. I remember you saying something about a big problem. I thought you were making a rude comment about my latest houseguest.”
“Ashford’s back and meaner than ever. Can’t you tell when he’s around?”
He gave no immediate reply. I could tell something had happened by the way he was staring at Ellin, who just arrived. This was not Camden’s usual Glad to See My Girl stare. This was amazement and a predatory gleam.
“Do you mean to tell me this man has this woman? I am impressed!” He went to Ellin and folded her in his arms. “You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”
“Camden,” she said in surprise. “What on earth—?”
“Forget Camden!” Ashford said. “You need a real man, someone who can truly appreciate you, who can give you everything you desire.”
She pushed against his shoulders. “Cam, this macho shit isn’t funny.”
He gave her a shake, his eyes hard. “I’m not Camden. He can’t possibly be man enough for you.”
Ellin surprised me with her impressive self-defense skills. She broke his hold and would’ve kneed him where it hurts if she hadn’t been so perplexed.
Ashford gripped her arms again, and I said, “Ashford, back off.” When he glared at me, I added, “Remember our conversation?”
Reluctantly, he let go. Ellin stepped back, rubbing her arms. “What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with you?”
“Camden’s not himself today,” I said. “He’s possessed by the spirit of John Burrows Ashford, songwriter and all-around prick.”
As I expected, Ellin didn’t have any trouble believing this. Still, she was a little taken aback.
“Oh, my lord, when did this happen?”
“He put in his first appearance yesterday.”
She made a move as if to touch Camden’s arm. “How long does he stay?”
Ashford drew himself up, or as far as he could in Camden. “As long as I like.”
“No, you don’t,” I said. “Go on, take a hike.”
“If by that cryptic phrase, you mean vacate this body, I suppose I shall, but if you continue to toy with me—”
“Yeah, I’m shaking. Get out.”
As Ashford jumped ship, Camden sagged, and this time, Ellin’s hands went to his shoulders to support him. He looked understandably surprised to be in her embrace.
“Hi,” he said.
“Cam, Randall said you were possessed.”
He glanced at me. “Again?”
“Big time. And he was even more of a snot this goaround, making passes at Ellin.”
He reacted with alarm. “What?”
I thought the light in Ellin’s eyes was relief. I should have known better. “Cam, this is fantastic. How often do you channel Ashford? What does he want?”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t remember his visits.”
“But you probably could, couldn’t you? This is wonderful! This is just what I need for my show. This is my way in!”
Even though I suspected she’d say something like this, I still didn’t believe it. “You have got to be kidding.”
She shot me an Ashford-quality glare. “Shut up, Randall.”
“This is serious. Ashford wants to take over. The last thing we want to do is encourage him.”
“Nonsense. Everyone knows spirits come back to resolve unfinished business. Once Ashford does this, he’ll be gone.”
“I don’t think so. Unlike you, he wants Camden’s body. We’ve got to get rid of him.”
Camden cleared his throat to get our attention. “I’d really appreciate it if someone would tell me what’s going on. I just got here, remember?”
Ellin’s eyes danced with enthusiasm. “Cam, this is a major psychic event. We haven’t had a true possession in months, and here I’ve actually talked to the man. If this happened on the show, our ratings would be supernatural, and you know this is going to be perfect for the PBS documentary.”
Was there any way to derail her? “If this happened on your show, no one would believe it,” I said. “They’d just think Camden was a
cting. How would you prove he was possessed?”
Another glare. “You stay out of this.” She held onto Camden’s arm. “Cam, how often does he drop in? Do you remember anything about how it feels?”
He pulled away. “Ellie, please don’t get so excited. I don’t remember a thing. Total blackout. Whatever business Ashford has, let’s let him complete it and go back to the Great Beyond. I’m not interested in making a fool of myself on TV.”
“Why don’t we ask Ashford how he feels about it?”
“Ashford won’t even know what TV is,” I said. “He died in 1929. Talk about possession! Ashford could take lessons from you. Camden, you see what she’s doing, don’t you?”
“I’m not going on TV, and neither is Ashford.”
“Cam, don’t you see what an opportunity this is for me? Yes, it’s awful he just comes in whenever he feels like it, but it’s not going to be forever.”
“How do you know that, Ellie? If I can’t remember when he’s here, what if I forget how to be me?”
If Camden hadn’t looked peaked and wan, I think Ellin would’ve hauled him off to the TV studio right then. As it was, she backed down a little. “All right, would you at least let me know the next time he’s here so I can have my camera crew or Robertson’s film him? He could be an invaluable source of historical facts.”
“He’s only interested in himself,” I said. “You’d get the facts according to Ashford.”
Ellin rounded on me. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Yes, it does. I’m trying to find out why people keep getting killed over who wrote what song. It’s the feudin’ Gentrys and Ashfords.”
“And you haven’t asked Ashford anything while he’s in Cam?”
“I’ve told him to get out.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that’s all you’ve said. You can’t accuse me of using Cam when you’ve parked yourself in his house with a front-row seat to everything that goes on here.”
I didn’t get a chance to defend myself. She turned back to Camden with his orders for the day. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back with my crew. We’ll film Ashford, let him say whatever he wants, and then maybe he’ll leave, have you thought of that? Maybe all he wants to do is tell his story. Just stay here.”
